


A Touchy Situation

by lenin_it_to_win_it



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: (its me im the reasons), Autistic Aziraphale, Other, because reasons, hes a non human dealing with a human body, idk i hate tagging these things and its late, or you know, snake crowley is Here and he lvoes to fucking cuddle, which just so happens to cause autism-ish symptoms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 03:21:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20039074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lenin_it_to_win_it/pseuds/lenin_it_to_win_it
Summary: Crowley knows Aziraphale better than any other being in creation, but there are still times when he finds himself unable to predict whether or not Aziraphale would want to be touched. After Aziraphale is exceptionally affectionate to Crowley in his snake form one day only to treat him coldly the next, Crowley is determined to find out why.





	A Touchy Situation

**Author's Note:**

> me? projecting my weird and specific issues with physical touch onto aziraphale? its every bit as likely as you'd think, strap in bitches
> 
> okay but seriously as someone who is pretty averse to physical contact a lot of the time- even from people I genuinely care about- sometimes I just need to write some wish fulfillment nonsense, so here we are

Sometimes, Crowley decided taking on a human form was more trouble than it was worth and went through his day as a snake.

It was more comfortable to sleep as a snake, without all those limbs away, and eating was simpler with a jaw that could unhinge when necessary. He didn't have to worry about sunglasses threatening to slip off, or if his pants were fashionably tight or merely uncomfortable— no clothes or accessories of any kind to fuss over. 

  
Occasionally, he would have to slink around in the shadows at night to spread evil, but, now that the apocalypse had fallen through and Hell was off his back, he didn't even have to do that. Instead, he could enjoy a perfectly sinful, lazy day in with Aziraphale, which is exactly what he intended to do. 

Crowley slithered out of bed and found Aziraphale reading at the kitchen table, occasionally taking a sip from a mug of cocoa without lifting his eyes from the page. He might have been there for a few minutes or a few hours. Crowley and Aziraphale had gone to bed at the same time, but there was no telling when—or even if— the angel had gone to sleep. Most nights, he simply read in bed for a while, pausing every now and then to coo delightedly at something Crowley did in his sleep, then, once a suitable number of hours had passed, he left the bed and continued reading somewhere else. Crowley did not know about the cooing. 

Crowley hissed to get Aziraphale’s attention. Then he waited. Depending on how interested Aziraphale was in his book, this could take a while. Sometimes, it took as many as two hours of alternate coaxing, threatening, and whining to get Aziraphale to so much as glance in his direction. Half the time, it seemed as if Aziraphale was completely oblivious to Crowley’s efforts and only noticed after rising out of some deep, book-induced trance. The other half, Aziraphale was definitely fucking with him.

On this particular morning, Aziraphale turned away from his book the second he heard the hiss. His face lit up in a warm, radiant smile. “Oh, Crowley, dear, good morning!” 

  
Crowley was glad his snake face wasn’t as expressive as his human one, or he probably would have made some absurd look of surprise before he could get his feelings in order. Instead, he just let out another ambiguous hiss.   
  
Aziraphale reached down to stroke Crowley’s head. “Did you sleep well, my dear?” 

Crowley leaned into Aziraphale’s touch. His hand was so gentle, so perfectly soft and warm against his scales. He hissed again, and Aziraphale nodded as if he understood.

“Well, that’s very good to hear. Would you like some breakfast, darling?” 

  
Crowley liked eating in his snake form slightly more than in his human one, but he tended to prefer things like rats, and mice, and birds, and the occasional toy poodle, none of which Aziraphale was likely to prepare for him. He moved his head back and forth. 

“Well, let me know if you change your mind,” said Aziraphale, rising from his chair and heading toward the fridge. “I suppose I’ll make some extra, just in case,” he murmured to himself, setting eggs on the counter. Crowley hissed in laughter, and Aziraphale pouted. “Now, don’t tease. It isn’t fair when I can’t tell what you’re saying.” 

Crowley hissed again, slithering up against Aziraphale’s legs and winding between them as he tried to make his way around the kitchen.

  
“Crowley! What are you—?! Get _away_, you great nuisance!” Aziraphale tried to shake Crowley off his leg to no effect. Eventually, he gave up, sighing as Crowley wound around his body and draped himself around his shoulders like a heavy, scaly scarf. “Oh, very well, then,” he said, giving Crowley’s head a small pat. “You can stay. But _do_ behave yourself,” he implored. 

Crowley responded by tickling the inside of Aziraphale’s ear with his tongue, causing the angel to let out a half-indignant shriek of laughter. 

Crowley was still wrapped around Aziraphale’s shoulders several minutes later when Aziraphale set two plates of eggs, sausages, and toast, prepared with love, effort, and trace amounts of divine intervention, down on the table.   


“Now, are you sure you don’t want any?” Aziraphale unsuccessfully tried to turn his head so he could see Crowley’s face. He lifted a loaded fork in his vague direction. “Snakes like eggs, don’t they?” Crowley just licked Aziraphale’s cheek instead. “Well, if you insist.” Aziraphale ate the eggs himself. “Oh, they turned out so well!” he exclaimed, smiling. “Are you_ quite _sure you won’t try some?” 

Crowley hissed in surrender and slithered down Aziraphale’s arm, biting some eggs off the plate. He mostly just gulped them down his throat, which prevented him from tasting the food, but Aziraphale seemed pleased anyway. 

“Thank you, my dear,” said Aziraphale, planting a quick kiss between Crowley’s eyes. “Isn’t it lovely to share a meal together like this?” 

While Aziraphale ate his breakfast— and the breakfast he had prepared for Crowley— Crowley simply allowed himself to savor the warm, contented joy that came from being so close to his angel. Over the past few months, Aziraphale had grown more receptive to Crowley’s affection. He let Crowley hold his hands, caress his cheeks, stroke his hair, kiss his forehead, and, more than three times now, allowed Crowley to kiss him on the lips. Each of these moments was more precious to Crowley than he would ever admit, but they were all momentary, fleeting— a brief flicker of light. Now, wrapped around Aziraphale’s shoulders, Crowley basked in a glow of intimacy. 

Even so, Crowley could not suppress a slight feeling of nervousness as he tried to guess when Aziraphale would decide it was enough and brush him aside. The moment did not come for several more minutes, but, eventually, Aziraphale did shoo Crowley away. “I’m headed off to the bookshop, and you know you don’t like it in this form,” he said in the tone of a parent telling a child what they know is best for them, adjusting his collar and bowtie. 

  
Crowley hissed. Aziraphale was right; the smell of dust in the shop made his nostrils itch, and he had no hands to scratch them with. He reluctantly unwound himself from Aziraphale and slithered off to find himself a warm, dark place to nap until the angel returned. 

Aziraphale returned in the evening, and Crowley tried to pretend that he didn’t much care, which was slightly easier to pull off as a snake than as a human. Still, he could tell by the mushy way Aziraphale was smiling at him that he must have failed. “Did you miss me?”

“_Hissssss_.”

“Oh, you poor dear.” Crowley was about to slink away to prove that he most certainly had not missed Aziraphale and was more than capable of surviving a few hours without his oh-so-gracious presence, but Aziraphale patted his lap invitingly. “Come, sit down. I’d still like to get through a few more chapters before bed, but. . . if you aren’t _too_ much of a distraction. . .” 

Crowley flung himself onto Aziraphale’s lap faster than it should have been possible for a snake of his size to move. Aziraphale got a_ look _on his face, so before he could say something about Crowley being ‘nice’ or ‘cute’, the snake nipped at the air slightly to the left of the book and hissed. 

  
“_Crowley_!” Aziraphale shook his head, then opened his book with a sigh. “You’re lucky those fangs of yours didn’t scrape the cover. Sixteenth century, you know. Very fragile.” 

Crowley could not have cared less about books, the sixteenth century, or books from the sixteenth century if he had tried. The only thing he cared about was the fact that he was sitting in Aziraphale’s lap, something he had never done in his human corporation. Aziraphale had sat in _his_ lap before, but that was different. Of course, Crowley was far too big to fit on his lap, so he was mostly wrapped around Aziraphale’s legs and torso, but it was close enough. 

Crowley’s thoughts were a vague haze of dozy pleasure until Aziraphale’s soft voice caught his attention.

“It’s getting late. Are you tired?”  
  
Crowley had done practically nothing but sleep all day, but he hissed in affirmation nonetheless.   
  
“Very well, then.”

Aziraphale gave Crowley a gentle pat on the head and waited for the snake to move before getting to his feet. He put his book on top of a stack in the bedroom seemingly at random, though Crowley knew Aziraphale would have no trouble locating it the next day. Aziraphale did not bother with the pretense of changing into pajamas, instead choosing to lie down on the bed fully clothed, on top of the comforter. Crowley would have shrugged if he had shoulders, wondering why Aziraphale had gone to bed at all, and began to slither under the bed.  


“Oh, you don’t mean to sleep_ there_, do you?” 

Crowley slithered back out, peering up at Aziraphale with inquisitive eyes. He was more than comfortable sleeping on the ground as a snake— his human corporation tended to get a sore back— but Aziraphale’s voice was so genuine and concerned that Crowley got onto the bed anyway. 

Aziraphale beamed. “Up you get, now. There’s a good dear.” 

Crowley made a half-hearted attempt at a threatening hiss that was further undercut by the way he was simultaneously wrapping himself around Aziraphale in a snaky embrace, not tight enough to hurt but just enough to exert some gentle pressure. He expected Aziraphale to get annoyed and tell him off at some point, but the reprimand never came. 

Crowley never could predict these things, when it came to Aziraphale. One moment, he would be laughing and smiling, looking at Crowley with eyes so full of love they shone like stars, and the next he would be startled and scared because Crowley had put a hand on his shoulder. For every time Aziraphale had smiled after a kiss or allowed himself to be touched, there were more when he would suddenly start, or shy away, or tense up, or fall silent, or withdraw into himself.

Aziraphale almost never made the first move, yet here he was patting Crowley’s head, giving him kisses, inviting him to sit in his lap, and even letting him cuddle, all in the course of one day. Crowley didn’t know what to make of it, but he didn’t dare question it. Instead, he just curled around Aziraphale even tighter, determined to enjoy every possible moment this temporary bout of insanity lasted.

Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s head. “Good night, my dear. Pleasant dreams.” 

***

The next day, Crowley and Aziraphale were back to their usual selves; Crowley was human-shaped, and Aziraphale was far more touchy about being touched. He didn’t snap at Crowley, or shove him away, but his shoulders tensed when Crowley set a hand on his back to get his attention while he was reading. It was a clear act of rejection, one that was repeated with slight variation two more times before Crowley would admit to noticing a pattern. 

Crowley was confused and wounded by the abrupt change from the previous day, but he had his pride. He would leave Aziraphale alone until the angel changed his mind, which was sure to happen eventually. 

Unless it didn’t. 

Crowley tried not to think about that. Instead, he threw himself into the sowing of discord and chaos, hoping it would serve as a distraction. He tormented one particular older gentleman for more than hour, continuously hiding and re-hiding his car keys, always placing them somewhere the man could almost but not quite see before moving them somewhere else when the man got close. It wasn’t Crowley’s style to invest so much effort into any particular human, but the man’s curly white hair and beige jacket reminded him of Aziraphale.

When Crowley finally slunk back home, angry, frustrated, and nowhere near distracted, Aziraphale greeted him with such enthusiasm that Crowley wondered if he was trying to make up for the morning. Still, he kept his hands balled into fists at his side as he followed Aziraphale to the couch. He sat down as far away from Aziraphale as he could manage and didn’t look at him unless he could be sure the angel was looking away. When he did, he usually managed to catch Aziraphale studying his face with a puzzled expression before guiltily averting his gaze.   


“Hw was your day?” Aziraphale asked, that questioning look still on his face, though he was attempting to smile over it. “Did anything interesting happen?”

  
“No.”

  
“Oh.” Aziraphale folded his hands in his lap, and there was a moment of nervous silence before he spoke again. “Well, I can tell you about my day, if you’d like,” he suggested, his smile wavering as Crowley turned to him, expressionless.   
  
“Don’t bother.”  
  
Aziraphale frowned. “Well, there’s no need to be _rude_,” he said, crossing his arms. “You’re in a foul mood today. You’re acting like a—”

Crowley’s voice was bitter. “A snake?”

Aziraphale huffed. “I think I liked you more when you _were _a snake.” He shook his head. “You were ever so much nicer then.”

Crowley was about to argue that demons were never supposed to be ‘_nice_’ when he was suddenly hit by a train of thought. Aziraphale really _had_ acted as if he liked Crowley better as a snake. The realization was so startling that Crowley forgot his anger for a moment. “Did you?”  
  
Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. “Did I what?” 

  
“Did you like me better as a snake?” 

Aziraphale opened his mouth but didn’t say anything, confused. It wasn’t like Crowley to sound so. . . earnest. When Aziraphale found his voice, he said, “I like you better when you’re not being rude to me, Crowley. That’s all I meant.” He couldn’t suppress a note of concern in his voice. “Why do you ask?”

“You were. . . hng. . .” Crowley scowled, biting his tongue. He felt so stupid and vulnerable talking about this. Demons shouldn’t want to be held, or kissed, or cuddled, least of all by an angel. Then again, he certainly didn’t spit in the faces of Heaven and Hell to do what he was _supposed _to do. “You were more. . . affectionate. . . yesterday,” Crowley finally ground out. 

"Oh." Aziraphale stared down at his hands, which were curled in his lap. "Did you not like it?" 

Crowley felt a surge of frustration so strong he snarled. “Thousands of years, I've been chasing after you, and you think I’d— you think I’m—" The suggestion was so ridiculous that Crowley couldn't even manage to form his thoughts into words.

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment before speaking again. ”I'm not affectionate enough, then. Is that it?” 

It was exactly what Crowley had been desperate to avoid admitting out loud, but Aziraphale looked so upset as he said it that Crowley shook his head. "Forget I said anything. Forget it. Doesn’t matter.” 

But Aziraphale wouldn't let it go. "Do you feel like I don't care about you?" 

"Angel. . ." Crowley shook his head again, already exhausted by the conversation. "No," he said, and while his voice sounded flat and drained, it was the truth. He did believe that Aziraphale cared about him; he just couldn't figure out in what way. "I know you care."

Aziraphale's eyes were full of guilt and compassion. "I'm afraid I'm not very good at this— this kind of affection. Physically, I mean."

Crowley sat up a bit straighter. "It's not hard," he said, brow furrowed. "You touch if you want to, and tell me to bugger off if you don't." The concept seemed simple enough to Crowley; it was strange to think that someone as smart as Aziraphale might not understand.

"But it's not that simple for me, Crowley! I've been trying to tell you!" The misery in Aziraphale's voice was tinged with frustration. "Its not about wanting to or not—I want to, but I—I can't!" 

"Why not?" 

Aziraphale crumpled in on himself. "It. . . it feels. . . wrong."

"Of course." Of course it would feel wrong for Aziraphale to touch him— disgusting, and sinful, and hateful, and wrong. Because it was. "Just thought we'd gotten past right and wrong by now, with the whole ‘end of the world, switching bodies, defying Heaven and Hell’ thing." Crowley had meant to sound bitter and derisive, but he couldn't keep a sliver of pain from creeping into his words.

Aziraphale looked confused for a moment, then he realized his mistake, horrified. “Oh, Crowley, dear, that isn’t what I— oh, I’m so sorry,” he said, tentatively reaching out and laying his hand over Crowley’s. “Please, forgive me.” 

Crowley made a noncommittal sound that was the closest he would get to a yes. Demons didn’t do ‘forgiveness’, and he knew Aziraphale would understand. 

“I meant to say, it feels strange physically,” said Aziraphale, trying to meet Crowley’s eyes. “Perhaps it’s something to do with this corporation. . .” 

Crowley frowned. “You don’t like it?” Perhaps it was shallow to be concerned over what Aziraphale thought of his corporation— certainly, it was preferable to be found unattractive than fundamentally unworthy of love— but Crowley was not above selfish vanity. 

Aziraphale gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Not yours, dear,” he said, half-smiling. “You know I’ve always found you quite handsome.” 

  
Crowley made some kind of choking noise and looked away in case his stupid human face decided to do something embarrassing, like blush.

  
“You see, my corporation, it’s very. . .” Aziraphale paused, trying to find the right words. “Receptive.” 

Crowley nodded. Demons were the same way, with faster reflexes and better-developed senses than any normal human. Generally, this was to their benefit, but it could get exhausting. There had been many occasions over the years when Crowley had wished his sense of smell wasn’t quite so sophisticated, or his eyes quite so keen, most of them occurring in bathrooms. 

“There are certain times or places when being touched can be. . . difficult for me,” said Aziraphale, his face set in a thoughtful, concentrated expression. The words still came hesitantly now, with frequent pauses, but it seemed to stem more from a desire for clarity than emotional distress. “The sensation is not exactly painful, but. . . well, it _is_ rather uncomfortable, particularly when it’s unexpected.” 

Crowley thought back to every time he had touched Aziraphale, trying to figure out how many had been unexpected or unpleasant. A wave of anger washed over him, at himself for hurting Aziraphale, and at Aziraphale for letting him. “You should have told me.” 

Aziraphale opened his mouth as if to protest, then went quiet. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “You’re right. I should have trusted you.” He shook his head. “I’ve been so silly about this, haven’t I?” he whispered to himself. 

“Damn right, you have.”

  
“Oh, hush up, you old serpent,” said Aziraphale, pretending to be offended. This might have been more effective if he hadn’t been smiling. “I wasn’t asking you.” 

“I’ll ask _you _something, then,” said Crowley, suddenly serious. “What kind of touching _do _you like?” 

“Oh! Well. . .” Aziraphale looked down at his and Crowley’s still-intertwined hands. “I do. . . quite enjoy holding hands,” he admitted, blushing as though he had just said something scandalous. “Especially when it’s a good, firm grasp,” he added, squeezing Crowley’s hand to demonstrate. “Sometimes, you sort of. . . I don’t know, brush your fingers over my skin—” He winced. “—and it feels very strange.” 

“A firm grip, eh?” Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hand as hard as he could without actually breaking any bones. “I reckon I can manage that for you.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Not quite so hard, you great brute, but I appreciate the effort.” 

  
“What else do you like?” Crowley asked. 

Aziraphale got a dreamy expression on his face. “Well, it always feels nice when you touch my hair, or when I rest my head on your shoulder.”   
  
“I’ve got two shoulders and no heads right now, angel,” said Crowley, who had discounted his own head in his excitement. “Go ahead.” 

Aziraphale laid his head on Crowley’s shoulders, smiling as Crowley began to run his fingers through his hair. “I like it when we’re in bed together, and you hold me very closely in your arms,” he said, his voice growing softer as he thought of their shared nights. “It reminds me of when you’re a snake, actually, during one of those times when you’re all wrapped around me.”

  
“You like that, do you?”

“Oh, yes, very much.” Aziraphale sighed. “It’s simply perfect. I do love it when you hold me as a snake.” 

“I’d’ve guessed it would be the other way round,” said Crowley, frowning. He couldn’t fathom how being encircled by a massive snake was somehow less stressful than fingers touching the back of his hand. 

  
“I suppose it’s the pressure,” replied Aziraphale contemplatively, lifting his head from Crowley’s shoulder. “Whenever something just barely touches me, or touches me very fleetingly, it always feels like— like static sounds over the radio,” he said in a sudden burst of inspiration. “Not quite, exactly, but—”  
  
“I get it.” Crowley didn’t want Aziraphale to talk himself into circles and get confused, as he was wont to do when trying to explain a difficult concept. “Go on.” 

“Well, I prefer a bit of pressure, actually,” Aziraphale continued. “Something nice and solid, like, well. . .”  
  
“Like a snake wrapped around you.” 

“Oh, and I simply adore your scales— so lovely and smooth,” Aziraphale said, a touch longingly. “Skin is. . . Well, it isn’t that I don’t adore your skin as well, Crowley, dear, but—”

“The feel of it’s not as nice for you?” Crowley suggested. For his part, he would have been content to never touch anything except Aziraphale’s skin ever again, though he was sure he’d feel the same way if Aziraphale was covered in scales, or fur, or anything else. Still, Aziraphale’s skin was so perfectly soft and warm, it was hard to imagine preferring scales if presented with the choice. 

“Yes, that’s it, exactly,” said Aziraphale with a grateful smile. “The feel of it. It’s ever so soothing to run my hands along your scales. . . And snakes don’t have hands, or limbs. They’re such a convenient, pleasant shape.”

Crowley thought Aziraphale’s corporation— inconvenient limbs, hands, and all— was a far more pleasant shape than a writhing tube of scales, but he refused to admit that out loud. “Tell me some things you don’t like,” he said instead, figuring that would move the conversation in a less dangerously sentimental direction. 

“I don’t like it when you stick your tongue in my _ear_, thank you very much!” Aziraphale gave Crowley a stern look. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that, Crowley. Looking like a wild animal is no excuse for acting like one.” 

“I promise to never put my tongue in your ear again,” said Crowley solemnly. “Unless I think it’d be funny.” Aziraphale glared at him, and Crowley winked. “C’mon, angel, you have to admit it’s pretty funny.”

“I will admit no such thing,” Aziraphale huffed, trying his best not to smile. “There’s nothing funny about disrespecting my boundaries.” 

“Right, boundaries.” Crowley was serious again. “What else don’t you like?” 

Aziraphale thought for a moment. “I tend to get uncomfortable when anyone puts their hand on my back, or on my shoulders.”

“_Anyone_. . .”

Crowley let out a sharp, jealous hiss before he could stop himself. Who else had been touching Aziraphale, and what would be the most painful way to— 

  
“Oh, do calm down, my dear, there’s no need to fret,” said Aziraphale, half-smiling. He was well aware of Crowley’s jealous tendencies. “I’m only talking about. . . oh, you know, customers at the bookshop, or people on the street.”

“I’ll make the whole damn lot of them regret putting their hands on you.” 

“No, you will _not_,” said Aziraphale firmly. “I won’t have you assaulting total strangers on my behalf, thank you.” 

Crowley snarled but didn’t push the matter any further. He could hardly stalk through London and track down every individual who had ever happened to make Aziraphale uncomfortable, though if anyone happened to do it in his presence. . . 

“Back, shoulders, right,” said Crowley instead. “Anything else I should know?” 

“Well, I— I do think I’ve told you the worst of it. . .” Aziraphale paused, considering. “But, really, anything can set me off if I’m not expecting it, or if there’s too much going on.” 

“What about kissing?” The words were out before Crowley could stop them. 

  
“Kissing?” Aziraphale’s eyes lingered on Crowley’s lips. “Kissing can be. . . overwhelming.”

“Overwhelming.” Crowley stared at Aziraphale’s face, trying to wring every ounce of meaning he could from that single word. 

“Yes, but. . . well. . .” Aziraphale blushed. “Sometimes, it can be rather nice to get. . . overwhelmed. If everything else is in order, of course,” he added in a rush. 

“What about now?” Crowley reached out and started toying with one of the curls that framed Aziraphale’s face. “Got everything in order? All your ducks in a row? Everything all—” His lips curved into a grin. “—tickety-boo?” 

“You’re positively horrendous, Crowley,” said Aziraphale, unable to keep himself from smiling. “If you must know, however, I do feel as if I’ve gotten everything in order, at the moment. Except. . .” Aziraphale took a quick breath, then looked up to meet Crowley’s eyes. “There is someone very, very dear to me that I feel I must apologize to.” 

Crowley started to shake his head. “Aziraphale—”

“I’m sorry that I can’t always be as affectionate as you’d like, Crowley,” said Aziraphale softly, lowering his gaze. “But, please,” he said, his voice growing stronger as he lifted his head again. “Don’t ever think it’s because I don’t care about you, or because you don’t deserve to be cared about.”   
  
“Angel. . .” Crowley leaned forward and pressed his lips against Aziraphale’s. “I know.” 

For a moment, Aziraphale was silent, staring at Crowley with eyes like stars. Then, straightening the lapels of his coat, he said, “Well. Jolly good, then,” and picked up his book as if nothing had happened. 

Crowley gave Aziraphale a firm kiss on the top of his head and walked away, smiling to himself. No touching his back or shoulders, no soft tracing, no stressful surprises, and no ear-licking; perhaps it was a strange set of boundaries, but Crowley was determined to follow them to the letter, to do anything he could to make sure his angel felt safe and loved.

  
Well, except for the ear-licking. Crowley _was _immorally obligated to be a bit of bastard now and then. 

**Author's Note:**

> probably shouldnt post this at ass o clock in the morning but then again i should probably also be sleeping or doing something useful with my life but its messy bitch hours in this chilis tonight and also i love aziraphale with all of my heart and all one of my brain cell


End file.
